


King's Signet

by chewysugar



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha Robb Stark, Bondage, Branding, Bruises, Cock & Ball Torture, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Erotica, Gags, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Kinks, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Power Dynamics, Scents & Smells, Season 2, Smut, Teasing, Wax Play, prisoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 13:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18993169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: Jaime was told not to interrupt Robb while he was working. What choice does Robb have but to invent yet another creative form of punishment?





	King's Signet

**Author's Note:**

> Bloody hell of a lot going on in this one.

The faintest noise brought pause to Robb’s pen. Brows furrowed, he let the dagger-like tip hover above his letter. Ink dripped onto the parchment, the dark blot seeping through like a droplet of sweat. Speaking of, his tent was rife with the musk of a man’s perspiration. The tang was so thick in the air that not even the burning fire nor the smoke of incense could clear it. Despite striving to maintain an air of stoic dignity, Robb wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Still, as content as he felt, he couldn’t allow the distraction. Words were as fickle as fish; if you didn’t catch them at the right time, they could swim to farther streams, and you’d never grasp them again. In any event, his guest ought to have known better by now.

With a sigh, Robb got to his feet. He anticipated this turn in the game to the point that he’d already grown hard beneath his breeches.

“I told you to keep quiet,” he said. “You’re either just as ignorant as everyone thinks, or enjoying this more than you care to admit.”

Robb found it difficult to tell which. To his eyes, it could be either option. The Kingslayer was tied between two sturdy tent posts by ankles and wrists, upside down. His face was flushed with the rush of blood to his head. Red lines of hardened wax ran in scarlet rivers down his body. Combined, these circumstances may have made for less than pleasant sensations. What saved Robb from feeling utter sympathy—aside from the Lion being his prisoner and hated enemy—was the tumescent swollen state of the bastard’s prick.

“Somewhere in this state of pain and humiliation, you like this,” Robb said. Jaime’s eyes followed him like frigid will-o-wisps. He couldn’t speak on account of the gag around his pretty mouth. All he could do was groan, which he had done despite the terms of their agreement.

Robb heaved a sigh, his lips thinning. The twists of this sick power play put him, if not in a physical precipice, then a mental one. As much as Jaime didn’t seem to differentiate between his body’s response to such torturous delights, Robb’s mind was tied between yearning for the Kinslayer’s body, and wanting to maintain some measure of composure.

“I like to think myself noble,” Robb said as he circled Jaime’s body. Gods, but he was a sight from every angle. Even with the bejeweled marks of their sex play—ruby candle wax, pearly welts and sapphire bruises—he looked a deity descended to earth. “I was raised to be something greater than myself,” he went on. “But having you like this...it makes me understand something Theon Greyjoy once said was truth.” He caressed Jaime’s skin from heel downward, his fingers and the ridge of his signet ring raising goose flesh from foot to inner thigh. “He told me once that, in the debate between morality and temptation, a man’s cock will always emerge victorious.”

Jaime squirmed as Robb’s hand closed around his balls. The plump eggs were so tight from pressure that if not for the leather thong tied round them, they’d likely have receded into the man's groin.

“I told you not interrupt me.” Robb spoke inches from Jaime’s ear. Beads of sweat dropped from the Lannister scion’s neck. “You’ve a poor taste for following any orders that don’t come from your pig father.” He traced a finger between Jaime’s sac, light as a ghost’s touch. Then he grasped his prisoner’s shaft, stroking from base to ruddy, swollen tip. He coaxed a lustrous opal of fluid from the Kingslayer’s cock. He knew that the man had been leaking a steady supply of pre-come for some time, evident by the stains on his coarse, wiry hairs and his abdomen.

“Ah,” Robb whispered. “It weeps.” He pressed his nose against Jaime’s taut stomach, inches from the head of his length, and inhaled the sharp, musk of his scent. “Should I kiss it?”

Another groan rumbled through Jaime’s chest. Robb’s own cock throbbed at the sound. Oh, but he wanted to board the sweeping chariot of lust that circulated in his soul; he wanted to drop his breeches and smallclothes, and plunge into Jaime’s untried arse. But that would be a touch too base; and whatever Theon had said to the contrary, Robb was the future king. He had to be, if not entirely superior to most men, then at least the smallest bit better.

“Have women ever made you feel this?” Robb strokds another clear blossom of lust from Jaime’s cockhead. “Or men? We’ve all had to spend time in the barracks, after all. I’m sure a golden-haired thing like you had a line-up of lads begging to taste your seed.”

Jaime tried to squirm again. Despite the shining, rosy heat in his face, he hadn’t been tethered long enough to lose consciousness. Robb wouldn’t risk such a thing, not when he took such pleasure doing this opposed to rendering his nemesis insensible. But the strength in Jaime's body had long gone out. He would be weak, docile—a lamb rendered from a lion just ready for the wolf to consume.

Robb ground his teeth, and let go of Jaime’s prick. Curse the bloody integrity his mother and father had forged into him.

“I won’t take your assbit,” he said as he stood. He gripped himself through his breeches, making a show of his steely need. He marched back to his writing desk, and grabbed the letter he’d been writing.

“You don’t deserve it,” Robb said, facing his prisoner. “I’d only just started the terms for your release when you broke the rules.” He flashed a white smile at the raw hope in his captive’s eyes. “Oh, I wouldn't get my hope as high as my cock, if I were you. I have to finish the damn thing first, and I can’t very well do that with you carrying on. Tell me how it sounds so far, if you’d be so kind.”

He cleared his throat. Though he kept his eyes on the parchment as much as he could, his gaze still strayed to that upside-down vision of debasement before him.

“To King Joffrey—it would be in your interests to consider the terms of surrendering the throne. Offer the kingdom for the life of Jaime Lannister. Kept alive and unharmed—“ Robb took in the welts and wax with a smirk— “in hopes of exchange. If you can find it in you—“ And here, he stopped. “That was when you disrupted my work. What should I tell the brat king, do you think? That you will be returned physically able but with your man’s honor taken by a Stark? How do you think they’ll react once they realize that you were fucked like a woman, and then some? Or even that you were hung up like some animal.”

Jaime let out a noise somewhere between a growl and a sob. But the twitch of his cock belied his desire in the face of fear.

Robb chuckled, but narrowed his eyes in a show of kingly wrath. “You’ve done it again. But then, you never do know better, do you?” Taunting people who had him prisoner wasn’t a smart move even for one as dense as Jaime Lannister.

Robb let the letter fall to the ground. “Punishment is in order,” he said, scanning the writing desk. His eyes passed over the candle he used to seal his missives—the blood-red was of it responsible for those many, many stains on Jaime’s skin. No, that wouldn’t suffice. He’d resorted to it one time too many this night. Besides, it would take too long. He couldn’t afford to have his prisoner trussed up for much longer. He need something swift...

“Pain for pleasure, I think,” he said softly. He held his ring finger over the flame of the candle. It licked the back of his signet ring, singeing the hairs on his knuckles. His skin prickled with heat, but he endured it.

When the stone glowed red-hot, Robb turned back to his prisoner. Jaime’s eyes went wide; his abdomen rose and fell with laborious gasps of what Robb could not tell—dread or want, it all bled together.

“Where should I brand you?” He said. He passed the back of his smouldering ring over Jaime’s throat, and to the space between his collarbone. “Somewhere for all to see,” he said. He hovered just to the side of each hard, rosy nipple. “You’d never be able to spar without a shirt on again. Or perhaps...” Jamie’s body shook as Robb slid his hand downwards, where his thigh connected to his groin. “You’d see that every time you went to take a piss or pump yourself dry with that famed sword hand of yours. No woman could look at that beautiful cock without knowing that you’d been at the mercy of a Stark.” With his palm, he caressed the solid muscle of Jaime’s flank, and slid his hand one smooth, firm cheek.

“And should a man ever breech the bud between this, he’ll know it was me who claimed you first.” The scorching heat of Robb’s signet ring hovered a hair’s breadth away from Jaime’s flesh. He could imagine the sizzle of skin as he branded that tempting ass; hear Jaime’s muffled scream.

The Kingslayer did scream, then, but not because Robb had imprinted him. His hips bucked, and the tent posts trembled as he shook. Seed surged from him, ropes of hot essence coating him from belly to brow. Robb watched in passionate fascination. His groin tightened. He needed to, wanted to, come just as hard. But he had to maintain superiority—to be the better man. His jaw ached to the point of pain as he clenched himself against the impact of pleasure. Needing something to distract himself, he unsheathed his sword, and cut the ropes that bound Jaime to the posts. His prisoner fell, body still jerking in the grips of release.

And Rob, moved by something terrifyingly purer than lust and the need to dominate, wrenched a blanket from the nearby cot, and sank to his knees. He covered the still trembling Jaime with the makeshift shroud. In the brief moment when his arms were around the other man, the frightening urge to pull him close and hold him like a lover stared Robb right in the face. The fancy of a youth stole over him—he pictured breaking Jaime down like a stallion, falling in love with him for real. He imagined the Sept brought down to heel, allowing love of any kind to flourish in the Seven Kingdoms. Peace and justice would spread across the world like a patch of sunny dandelions...

Jaime shoved him away, color returning to his face, his shoulders heaving. Robb laughed softly, even as he stood to find Jaime a pair of shackles. He’d hate Robb for this, as much as for everything else. But he’d come crawling back. After all, nobody could make a man come like a king.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic!


End file.
